As he neared the mouth of the tunnel, he stretched his face forward to meet the cool air. He slipped into the darkness, and a smile broke across his face. Moist cave air swirled in eddies over his naked body. The air that filled his lungs carried smells of moss, wet stone, and floral sweetness. For years he had dreamt of this moment, experienced directly, without the inferior fidelity of a v-chamber, and it was everything he had hoped for—transcendently exhilarating. His eyes teared with pleasure, and he let out a wild howl.
By the glow of cave fish, he could just make out the tunnel's rock walls and ceiling. With his arms stretched along his sides and his fingertips extended, he arched upward in yoga's half-boat pose, lifting his head and hands and feet until the pads of his toes grazed the slick-smooth surface above him. He leaned gently to the right to follow the familiar curve of the tunnel, holding the pose until his limbs quivered from exhaustion and he could hold it no longer. He was impressed by how familiar his muscles felt—the physiological simulation seemed flawless.
As he came out of the curve, he saw light playing off the surface of the water ahead and knew he was close to the tunnel's end. He dropped the board to the water's surface and allowed it to simply float, then carefully flipped onto his back. Water lapped over the edges of the board against his shoulders, his flanks, his butt, his calves. At first it caused him to shiver a bit, but he soon grew accustomed to the temperature, and was able to close his eyes and focus on how it felt against his skin.
Through closed eyelids he detected the increasing light, but the moment he exited the tunnel was one of sharp transition, the bright sun causing him to close his eyes tighter and turn away. The warmth of the sun on his skin was delicious. As he drifted into the calm waters of the Soravia, the merging currents slowly spinning him, he felt drunk with pleasure. The heat of sunlight on his groin reminded him he was naked. He wanted to shamelessly enjoy his arousal, yet he couldn't help but open his eyes and look about him, instinctively fearing that someone might be watching. He decided this fear was sheer folly—he was more alone than ever. He reached down and adjusted himself, allowing his scrotum to hang more freely between his thighs. The luxuriously warm waters of the Soravia lapped against his skin. He decided to satisfy his longstanding curiosity about what a digital orgasm would feel like. He got up on his knees, spread his legs wide, and slowly dropped into a back-bend, his eyes closed, until the back of his head was against the board. The sun blazed, heating his skin—stretched taut across ribs and belly—and giving rise to erotic vitality. He imagined Anya, straddling him, her eyes closed and her head thrown back. He wanted to draw out the pleasure, as if trying to satisfy her first, but could restrain himself no longer.
o-------------------------------o
He dropped to the board, exhausted, completely adrift with pleasure. Not a thought in his mind. Feeling, not thinking. With the smile of one who is at one with the present, he rolled off the board and into the water.
After a good swim, he pulled himself onto his airboard and flew back to where he had exited the water tunnel. Above the dark cave, carved out of the blue rock wall, was the alcove where he had planned to enter Nurania. It was mid-way up the wall, about twenty feet above the water, the perfect platform for a dive into the deep waters below. The arched entrance was closed off by gates carved out of the same vibrant blue rock, intricately detailed to allow fine rays of light to filter in. Another entrance was carved into the cliff just to the left of the Lomordia tunnel, where a steep rock staircase provided a means of climbing back up to the alcove after a dive.
Raymond chose to fly up to the higher entrance. He brought his airboard to a hover next to the gates, slid his fingers into carved slits, and pulled them open, backing out of their way. They swung smoothly open at the lightest touch, then slowly started to swing back closed, allowing him just enough time to slip through.
From the darkness emerged a young woman, as naked as Raymond—tanned and curvy, Polynesian in appearance. Raymond stopped short, shocked to see another person in Nurania. She stepped up to his board, smiling at him. A long braid of black hair curled around her neck and lay between her full breasts. She looked up at him on his airboard with pleading, playful eyes. Something about her seemed familiar, but he couldn't place it.
"How could you tease me like that?" she asked with girlish drama.
Raymond noticed a door at the back of the alcove, where there had never been one before. The alcove itself was strewn with flower petals, and there were cushions on the floor.
"Tease you?" he asked stupidly, taken aback by this scene.
"I was watching," she said in a pained voice. "And after you've been gone for so long! I wanted to come out and be with you, but you told me not to. Isn't this one of the airboards you didn't like?"
With this question, it clicked—she was familiar. She was a fantasy of his, made flesh. A gorgeous supplicant plaything. She stepped closer and ran a hand up his inner thigh. Much to his embarrassment, he was immediately aroused. He moved her hand away, toward his knee, and looked around for something with which to cover himself. She silently pet his leg.
"You're probably used to seeing me naked, aren't you," he said.
"Oh yes. Sometimes clothed, but mostly naked."
"Who do you think I am?" he asked. He was aware that this might ruin his opportunity to use her misunderstanding to his advantage, but the thought of having her as a plaything held little appeal now. And he had the uneasy sense that he knew what her answer would be.
"Why, Apollo, of course. Are you not Apollo?"
There was no fear or concern in her voice. She merely sought an answer.
"I look like Apollo, don't I," he said with an edge of despair. It was as he had feared—he had not even deemed his own fantasy woman worthy of knowing his real name. And he considered himself worthy of a god's name. This was a fantasy of his, brought to life. Seeing it from the outside, it seemed a little sick.
"Yes, very much. Except your face is marked again. Are you not Apollo?"
"For you, I am Apollo. But I'm confused. How long have you known me?"
"Since you created me."
He nodded. Possible explanations for his entire situation started to take shape in his mind, in quick succession, each one disintegrating under the scrutiny of reason. He got down off his airboard as if it were a horse and started toward the back of the alcove. The woman followed him.
"Is your name Venetia?" he asked.
"Of course," she responded.
Venetia was the name he most often attached to this fantasy woman of his. It had started as Venus, for the voluptuous body, but the name of a goddess seemed too noble for the baseness of his fantasy. By derivation, he had arrived at Venetia.
Raymond examined the new door at the back of the alcove. It was carved with patterns similar to the gates at the mouth of the alcove, but these carvings did not go all the way through.
"What's behind this door, Venetia?"
"Our palace, Apollo. You are confused, aren't you? Is there anything I can do that might help?" she asked suggestively.
He stopped and looked at her. He couldn't help but be tempted. What harm was there? She was a toy, and pleasing him was the game for which she had been built. But he knew she had somehow sprung from his fantasies with that game in mind, and he was ashamed of himself.
"How long ago did I create you?" he asked, pausing at the door.
"Eight months ago."
"Nuranian time, or real time?" he asked.
She looked at him quizzically.
Of course she would have no knowledge of her own virtual existence.
He cautiously pulled the door open. Sunlight flooded the alcove from the long, lush courtyard garden on the other side.
"By real time," asked Venetia, "do you mean time in your old world, where Anya is?"
Raymond spun around.
"You know about Anya?"
"Of course. She is the woman you loved in your previous life. You told me much about A
nya."
"Like what?"
"You told me that sex with me was easy, but it was complicated with Anya—more exciting, but complicated. You told me that you felt like you could say anything to me but found it difficult to say things to Anya. You said it was partially because of the crime, and the secrets she couldn't know, but that she also made you feel judged and criticized. You said you felt like you had to hide from her, as much as you wanted not to, and you were glad that now you could have a new start in life."
Raymond was caught off guard. This woman was more than a plaything. She had clearly played the role of confidant, as well.
She knows me. She knows things I've never told anyone—things I've never even thought through.
He walked into the courtyard, intensely colorful with green foliage and huge white flowers against the polished blue walls. Venetia followed. He turned about slowly, gazing at the beauty of the place. He could feel that it was his own creation, yet he was impressed—it seemed more joyous than anything he had created before. He looked at Venetia, standing naked in broad daylight, relaxed, wanting nothing but to serve him.
"Did I ever tell you about uploading, or my life before uploading? You mentioned something about 'the crime'."
"You told me a little. I asked you once about the crime you committed in your previous life. 'Don't ask me about that,' you said. You told me you couldn't believe that uploading had really worked—you said that many times. You told me that you created this world, and now you got to live in it—but that you weren't done with it yet. You told me that Anya was still in the world of your previous life. You told me—"
"Okay," interrupted Raymond. "That's enough for now. How about a tour of the palace?"
"Certainly, Apollo, but you created the palace. Surely—"
"You know what? How about if you call me Raymond?"
"Okay, Raymond."
She led him through the halls and courtyards of the sprawling palace, all of it carved out of rock. It was an exercise in grace and peace, but there was an emptiness to it, a lack of life.
"Were there never more people here? Servants, or something?"
"You tried servants once, but you said you liked it better when it was just me."
"And how long ago did I leave?"
"Seven-and-a-half months ago."
"So I was here for two weeks. I see." His eyes fell again to Venetia's body. "What a curse to bore so easily."
"After the first week, when the palace was done, you came and went often."
"Did I ever leave Nurania?"
"Oh yes. You said there was another world that you went to when you were not here."
Someone was clearly here before me, and it seems like it was me, but I have no memory of being here. The last thing I remember was lying in the scanner, hoping the upload would work.
"I'm not the original Raymond," he muttered.
"What does that mean?" asked Venetia. Raymond had not intended for her to hear his comment, but neither had he thought of concealing it from her.
"You were designed to ask questions, weren't you, Venetia. To draw me out."
"I am always wanting to know you better."
"And how free I must have felt, speaking openly about myself. You probably learned more about me in two weeks than anyone else ever did."
His fantasies of life after upload had always revolved around enjoyment of the Nuranian wilderness and wildlife, free from people. But Venetia's presence in the world made perfect sense to him now.
It would be freeing, to speak openly to someone you know won't judge you—can't judge you.
"Venetia, I don't know if you will understand this, but I'm not the same Raymond who created you."
"You are not my Apollo?"
"Well, I am and I'm not. There seem to be two copies of me. And I'm the second one. The original one must have uploaded as planned, and entered Nurania here, with god powers. He must have saved the mental data from the scan and created another copy... but why?"
"Then you are not the one I am to please?"
"Well, I don't know about that." He looked her over again. He was surprised he had given her big, full breasts. He preferred smaller breasts. Perhaps the first copy of him had wanted to save perfection for another woman. "If I told you that you should please yourself first, would that make sense to you?"
"Oh yes, you like to watch me please myself," she tittered, and she ran her hands up her belly and over her breasts, moaning pleasurably.
"No no, that's... that's not what I meant. Although I can see why I might like that." He watched her for a moment, marveling at how simple and predictable a creature he was. But he knew where it would lead if he continued to watch her, and he was enjoying his moral high ground too much to let this happen. "You should stop that, Venetia. That's really not what I meant by pleasing yourself first. I didn't think you would understand."
She immediately stopped and asked him if he would like to see more of the palace.
"Are there any clothes in this palace?"
"There are my clothes."
"Oh, so I let you have clothes?" he asked, snorting a laugh of self-disgust, embarrassed by the boyish crudeness of his own sexual fantasy. "Those should do. Show me the way."
He followed her back through the hall through which they had just been walking, through a maze of courtyards, a hookah room flooded with silk and cushions, a library of ancient texts, and various small rooms that seemed to serve no purpose beyond breaking things up and housing vases filled with flowers. As they walked, he kept watching Venetia, her long neck and tall torso, toned legs, the way she stepped lightly on the balls of her feet. He walked past a mirrored wall and saw his naked self, complete with erection, walking along behind her. "Do you have a bathrobe or something?"
"Oh yes, in the bathing room. I'll take you there."
They continued along through several rooms, eventually coming to a grand, splendid bedroom. Venetia passed through an archway to the left, into a small room, high-walled, with open sky above. He followed. Set into the floor was an elliptical pool of water. White towels and robes hung from pegs on the wall. Raymond grabbed one for himself and tossed another to Venetia, instructing her to put it on. Beside the entrance to this small room was a low stone bench, also carved out of the blue rock. He sat on it, crossed his arms, and stared absent-mindedly at the pool.
"Would you like for me to bathe you?" asked Venetia.
"No, Venetia. I don't want you to offer me anything anymore, okay? If I need something, I'll ask for it."
"Okay."
"So," he said, thinking aloud, "there's another copy of me. The first copy uploaded, had god powers... everything was fine. Then how on earth did I end up here? And where is he?"
Venetia sat down on the bench opposite and studied him curiously as he spoke.
"Maybe something went wrong," he said. "Or maybe this is me toying with me? Of course I would have kept a copy of my original mental data. In which case I could instantiate as many copies of myself as I had NBCs. Which would be two. Which means I must be running on Molly's NBC. But it would have to be serious for me to oust Molly. Unless... for all I know, many years could have passed by now, and the original Raymond scored another brainbox."
He looked up at the square of sky above, imagining the original copy of him looking down from on high.
"Are you up there, watching me?"
"Who are you talking to?" asked Venetia.
"I don't know. God. Myself, I guess. My other self."
"Are you not a god, like the Apollo who created me?"
He looked her in the eye. He was moved by how much and how little she seemed to understand.
"No, I'm not a god." An idea dawned on him—perhaps, as a character of this world, she would have administrative query permissions. "Do you know who is god right now?"
"Do you mean my Apollo?"
"I mean, can you ask who is god and find out? Do you have administrative query rights?"
"Administrative q
uery rights?" She looked at him blankly.
"Never mind. It was a long shot. Do you have any maps of Nurania?"
"No."
"Have you ever left this palace?"
"No."
"I don't get it," said Raymond, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped. "Why wouldn't I have instantiated my second self in a starter world? Why would I not have given myself god powers, unless it was some sort of game?" He looked up to the sky again and gave it the finger. "If this is a game, I don't like it."
He crossed his arms and sat back again, ignoring Venetia's puzzled gaze. He had long held the fear that he would upload into Nurania and grow bored with his powers, like a spoiled child. He wondered whether this was in fact what had happened. The image of the volcanic eruption in the Faralons sprang to mind. It was not difficult to picture it being the outcome of one of his destructive tantrums. Perhaps even Nurania could not escape his profound disregard for anything outside himself.
"So," he said, looking to the sky again. "Are you up there, wondering whether you can teach yourself a lesson? Is that what this is? Am I the second generation, burdened with the expectations of the first? Are you hoping I will succeed where you failed? That I'll find satisfaction where you could not?"
He looked at Venetia. He wanted to use her, demeaning himself to show his god copy that he was not to be used as a toy in some morality game. He wanted to anger and disappoint his god copy, perhaps even make him jealous. But the desire was fleeting. It seemed predictable and fruitless, damaging more to his self-image than to his god copy. If there even was a god copy.
Raymond's stomach growled, and he realized he was starting to feel hungry.
"Great, without god mode, how am I supposed to feed myself?"
Again he wondered whether he was subject to what would normally be fatal damage. Was it possible for him to starve to death? And if so, would he be able to come back to Nurania and start over, as if it were a game?
"Is there anything to eat in this palace?" he asked.
"There is fruit on the trees, in the courtyards. I used to feed my Apollo all sorts of fruits. He would create new ones and try them, and have me feed him the ones that he liked the best."
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